I was made of her insane and immaculate love

Transparent. She watched from the window. Alone. Nobody ever came or went. Unloved. Behind the window there was silence. She stood while suns came and went, looking and waiting for him. The long night, a dark hung by an invisible string. Sway in the moonlight, but don’t turn back. Never look away from his eyes. She couldn’t remember anymore, and yet she had nothing but her face in this glass hopeful and waiting. I have lost. I don’t expect anything but voices and blurs. I have come to this place of erasing and endings. There is a dog barking through the fence and a man smoking cigarettes one after another. There is a radio blaring awful music over the other fence and a woman yelling through the music. There are cars and trucks and motors. The carpet has cigarette burns and the horizon isn’t visible. I am a prisoner trying not to be. And as usual I wait. Then, he got up in the middle of the night looking for a snake. She was not asleep, he was not awake. There were images between them, an unbreakable screen pain. In her head, on the ceiling- sounds that would not go, old smiles gone forever. Now there was the night, this old apartment filled with dirty animals. Blame and cold bodies. She had so many pictures, there was no memory left. Just replay and flashback. Just a piercing ache inside. She felt no connection to the night, disassociation. The devastation of the ego involves the entire world. The transparency of love must be matched by obliqueness. I am on a wire, just a thread. Sharpened by the dull things that threaten my escape from inertia. Of course I cannot sleep, the night is long. How long have I been here breathing heavy, leaving dreams in my wake. I have taken the need to die while still lost into my own hands. I have taken the pains of the deep to their origin. There is nobody here but me mocking my dead. With or without me you cannot live. Your job will outlast you and your penis will grow limp. The silence will engulf you in its swamps. The long haired girls will unleash their madness carelessly into your stupor and you will grope, having forgotten me. I let go of these tangles and tears. I stand at the precipice of the new world. A world where I am a woman who need not pretend to be weak, for your sake. Where your fear of being mothered isn’t greater than my calling to mother the child who pretends he isn’t idle. I have seen the light where your darkness has hid me and I have come to the ending of night’s perverse isolation. I mourn the loss of god between us. I mourn the memories of a light I can no longer find. And if it was me I mourn myself for this curse, for the vengeance inflicted that I know not the source. I have taken the torment and buried myself in its past. I have sat near the sadness and wept for its grief. But I myself had no sound, only deep silence. Penetrating loss. A void so deep I cannot contain the remains of its ashes. Were there a fire left, any place to jump- I would. But nothing, just this ending that does not end in me. I am not the world I once was. And I am not sure what this means. Outside there are still moving sounds- of people and the crashing of minds. A long time ago I wrote word that I thought would have impact but I don’t feel that way anymore. I shaved my head because I hadn’t come all the way. Not that it matters, that I’m traumatized and invisible. All I do is look for ways to destroy myself. I know I’m unloveable, I set it up. We have these grooves. I am in an empty bedroom, I have no bed or love. The windows are cold to the touch, I am glass. The carpet is gray, stained. The walls are gray, untouched. The ceiling is spotted with shadows and I, am alone. There are pieces of me left in various places, they’ll be back. Out searching for meaning or affection, out dreaming to be seen. I was once believing it was possible but now I know it’s not. That I could fill this room with color or warmth, it’s gone. Everything changes, turns cold and gray, gets buried. Disappears. But I will remember you, even though you’ll all forget me. In the cracks, in the whispers you’ll be bright and gone. You can think whatever you need to think to go on. Clearly I’m dead and you’re lost in the noises of my graveyard. And so the world grows smaller as I float away. The voices become distant thundering echoes, The memories become rain clouds. There is a storm coming. In the distance I float towards a dark recollection upon the horizon. And no one is an island unless they must be. Even then in that imagined aloneness there is that which carries me towards or away from this world, this world made of stone and ice.

I’ve been walking in circles most of the day. There is space everywhere, throughout and inside. An overwhelming subtle grief- too soft to react, its in the air. The air, like water- I swim through these autumn days filled with nothing but me. Like the leaves that fall from these trees, I let go of whatever I imagined was mine. I dress in monotonous rags. I shaved my head because the cut wasn’t enough, I needed to go deeper- to exact the loss of me. I am invisible, I do not exist. My dog licks my face- apparently she still knows I’m here. It’s common knowledge that dogs and cats can see the ghosts of the dead. My cat’s eyes follow me through the room in the dark at night. He watches me closely, ghosts don’t sleep- they’re restless for the indescribable disappearance. So I have entered this blurry, surreal realm where you aren’t there either- because I’m not. I’ve conjured these words with a great discipline because I have no interest in making myself heard, however warped it ever was. My hand moves and I watch her breathe. This is the other side of where the white horse goes. I didn’t just write the story I lived it- I have been all of them. How can I expect this sky not to bleed for its earth. How can I expect a shadow to see a footprint. How can I explain or express a cloud that soon will leave. It’s going to be raining soon, there will be tears somewhere falling. Transparent, hanging by a limb. Upside down digging for light. I was laying here just now listening to songs that make you remember sad things and how love leaves and breaks the ice and becomes the stone. How could I have known this. That he couldn’t love me and that you didn’t seem to see me at all. Here, underneath this sky made of skin…one day a star fell. The star was me. I rose from the earth dressed in this body. God never cared what I looked like. I was beautiful and immature. I was angry and perfect. I created crisis and miracles. I was made of her insane and immaculate love. Sharada Devi

36 thoughts on “I was made of her insane and immaculate love”

  1. You took it where i wanted to go
    but did not
    to the brink, to the limit
    where all things must go to be truly understood
    You heard me
    desolation travels ubiquitously across the planes of connection
    You told me
    in unanswered symmetry
    parallel particles floating in seemingly paradoxical spaces
    i wrote moments ago
    just prior
    timing can be so crucial…
    – what happens to a star seed
    flung aside
    left to abide in a place of alone
    cast to fallow ground
    inert and sallow
    does one become a weed
    left and forgotten
    unkept and hollow
    by those whose self centered neediness
    exceeds their own worth
    i saw you look me in the eye
    green was the color
    not the green of envy
    but that of the heart chakra
    and in a flash, you were gone

    1. Dear Radhe,
      This is beautiful writing.
      Thank you, timing is everything.
      It’s true…and yet I’m still waiting.
      I have learned there’s nothing to wait for,
      it took me a few decades to figure that out…and there’s no hurry. Yet I rush
      to wait daily like a lunatic drawing straight lines through circles!😂

      1. Thank you ❤️
        It is really a spontaneous flow, dynamic reaction, like call and response of a different nature.
        I heard something about this woman who in one life in Belgium was called St Christine the astonishing.
        Remembered for her faith and states of ecstasy.
        She supposedly died and came back to life. Guess that’s why they made her a saint.
        What i hear was She is the patron saint of lunatics. And that psalm 102 is attributed to her.
        “For my days vanish like smoke. I am like an owl in the desert among the ruins.
        I have mingled my drink with weeping and my days are like a shadow”
        Never been a cathaholic, but this drew me in so i wrote it down.
        Then you mention lunatic drawing…
        the circle game. or better yet, infinity symbol fluidity

  2. Amazing writing, raw. A true talent, I don’t know of anyone more proficient in transmitting through words. Hope all is well let me know if you need anything

  3. There is a Catholic saint that wrote a book called Dark night of the Soul (guessing u have read it all ready it) This book helped me when in a great darkness.If u would like a copy I would be happy to send you a copy . You are in my thoughts and prayers

    1. Yes, but are you still chanting for me on the bus?! Hare Krishna! ❤️ may the children sing loudly for freedom from cages🦋

      1. You have the full support of the kids ( I call them Smurfs ) myself & the Mahamantr. If I can help in any way please let me know.

  4. Om Mani Padme Hum. Your writing is dark and scary and as beautiful as ever. You are there with NO place to go.
    I left him. I am alone again after eight years. Clinging to security, realizing that was just a bad habit. I did not even have tears…I am still waiting for them to come. Dull non-existence. Weighing the odds to “buy the used car” or just wait, until my heart is captured. But….realized….I have captured my own heart and that has made all the difference.

    1. Thank you. Your own heart.
      Rises, in you. Nowhere else
      can true love shine your radiance.

      Your donation is much appreciated! ❤️

  5. The footprint expanded. Filled, turned to mud, clarified by your loud silence.

    You came out of their room- Saturn and Pluto’s, with Arnold Swarzennegger, and you looked like you had been struck, in a cold storm. Like something in that room changed you. Like how you say Pluto rapes, etc… I put my hand on your face and kissed your lips. Your non-reaction made me feel like I should’ve kissed your cheek. Arnold was escorting you to the guest room, where I had been changing out of my wet clothes. I had just gotten in the shower after I saw the show I had been waiting my whole life to see- turned out to be a sad farce, at the end of the hall.. but it was late and I had to leave, or so it seemed, so I gave Arnold a punch to the arm and no one cared. Leaving me to wander the rooms, falling apart, to the light of the night, inside my invisible self. It’s your words, but your light, after all. So here I am, with you in my chest. There’s someone lying in the other room. And I could cry because this house is full of a quiet sound. The bad man is gone. He left me in charge, but this isn’t my house. This is my god, my empty vessel, the face of you, coming like the light after night.

    The sun doesn’t rape, but passes through the day. The night creeps in, without the sun’s chariot and horns, with a sad chord that strikes the heart to stop. “The unstruck sound”, they call it. To hear the wind that will always blow. Through us. That wind lets me feel your face. How the cold brings warmth to your cheeks, after all. Somehow, I will lie, with you.

    You are the second sun, that breaks the sound barrier of my heart. When night has left me alone. I know I will rise in you.

    1. the most beautiful mystical words,
      enchanting lonely and light.
      the empty vessel cries for no one…
      and yet we must feel this to know
      how deep down it goes, inside
      to the place of well worn grace.

      after all,
      god knows every breath we take…

  6. sound barrier broken
    by predesignated flight patterns in
    the evening sky
    endeavoring to
    dodge caustic bullets that fly as friendly words
    from the would be brave
    ting ting
    but who will listen
    as this one
    claps to save humanity
    rising up
    alchemy in spatial motion
    not caught up in mundane emotion
    God watches just as well as me
    god knows it all
    there is no escape
    especially in your lucid dreams
    in the invisible realm
    all is seen
    by eyes that never miss a beat
    retreat is defeat
    so vigilant is as diligent does
    or visa versa
    how else can one escape
    the rape of pluto
    i am made of keener stuff
    that money won’t absolve
    when you ain’t got nothing
    you ain’t got nothing to lose
    so peruse lightly
    into the heavy dark
    and if you are scared, beware
    the best is yet to come.

  7. Sharada Devi You are far from
    Unlovable. You are the coolest sweetest deepest most perfect and real and true sister I have been Blessed to cross path with. I have the greatest respect and love for you. The thought of you being sad or down upsets me. So I just wanted to pop in and let you know how you appear to
    Me. And make you smile. Ommmm

    1. Fuck you.
      Sharada Devi I know it doesn’t tell you what a comment is in relation to when it comes through. This is in relation to Mitranan.
      I need day more. The broken heart is mistaken for the world and that is the downfall of everyone we knew. You are before my downfall. I will always love you like a waterfall that never fell, because it saw you.

      1. If I could stop laughing I’d say more…
        you’re so funny! The insanity and skill,
        you remind me of sunshine-

        1. Hi Mitranand-

          You are nice, obviously, but you sound like you’re talking to a pre-school drop-out when you say that to Sharada Devi.

          All the best,

          1. That cool Garuda ! I understand. just how it came out in that moment. As I expressed. Nothing complex on this end just simplicity. And a warm heart I won’t hold your goofy judge mental stuff against ya not that any of it matters. Does it wink. Do you have jealousy issue cause you sound butt hurt

          2. Dear Mitranand,

            You can talk that talk, but I just want you to give her more than words. It’s not easy. She gives everything. Compliments don’t mean much. Everyone seems to have them- since they come easy. Can you imagine what she’s gone through, you can’t, how could you? I’ve seen the way it is and it hurts. I’m not jealous, I just love God. Garuda

  8. You are so very welcome…I hope you are getting donations from others as well. Your writing is profound and conscious raising…and love the community, here. Thank YOU.

    I was stuck, and stagnant. I am becoming unstuck. No longer will I stay where there is dispute. I was pulled by a “too comfortable” way of life. Comfort has lost its flavor….

    As Longchen Rabjam said:
    “Ordinary worldly activities are like a swamp that engulfs and elephant seeking cool……
    ……The pleasures of this life are like a bone being gnawed by a toothless old dog.”

    1. Thank you dear Chandra Ma,
      I am glad things are moving for you,
      getting stuck is clearly the path.
      Yours is the only donation in the past couple months or so, so it’s appreciated as I am in a transitional phase which isn’t easy/ as you know -giving everything to something until that’s all you are- then it’s all taken- gone. And the message shouldn’t be that the man goes on and the women is nothing without him- as of now that seems to be it though…I’ll continue to do my best. So thanks for your feminine support, it’s definitely needed!❤️

  9. Sharada Devi
    I love the way you taught me to sing
    I did forget it for a while but then I remembered the fire you spoke of
    It’s amazing

    Sweet sun
    Cool moon
    I think I love you
    And what you do
    Help me to be brave
    To save my soul
    Clean my mind
    Not be dumb
    Or hurt someone
    Like me

    For a day I was there. I sang in the square and saw an orange eagle flying a blue space ship. I wonder if he saw me too, singing like erykah Badu.
    But I made it to Portland where I’ve always wanted to be and see. It’s beautiful and crazy.

    1. don’t forget the fire. it’s yours or your it’s.
      i would choose the 1st way.
      be what you do and do what you say-
      then everything will be ok.
      it’s 1 song we sing, its light.

      and I hope to see you soon, there seems to be a way. i hope you like eagles because that’s the beginning. to become one and burn, lighting up the earth you rise from and becoming the flame gives life to those who forgot fire….

    2. Pablo
      So happy to hear you made it to Portland! I have not been there, but one of these days I will make it up there. If I do I will let you know….would love to see you again. Do you still have your awesome van? If I decide to book from Santa Cruz at some point, that will be how I will go. I see it with large colorful letters “OM MANI PADME HUM” above a lotus (on both sides). Until then….I remain here taking care of furries.

  10. Ty Garuda for clarifying as all egos do I felt a little hurt at the fuck you i come here for clear minds and I was a little put off by your 1 st comment but see where your coming from I have great respect for the sangha. Our clan of friends practitioners. so I did feel a bit hurt by your harsh words. But hey that feeling so fleeting ty for your response though ,I needed to hear that as I was so bitter I was thinking why even try to be supportive. I was ready to just say Fuck it fuck all teachers and everyone cause I just get dissaappinted in the world But it all feeds the awakening warm regards !!!! Ps I am goofy and simple but just like you I hold her in the highest regards I very real in that Feeling. I’m not the best at expressing its ackward to try and get it out and when criticized I feel or why try but new moment and more stuff to just let go

    1. It’s ok. I could have expressed more clearly my feelings- you know how it is. Sharada Devi is pretty clear, and we have a long way to go.

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